If You Love Her
by SunnyDreams
Summary: "'Come on, Pops. It's Mom we're talking about. You know her better than anyone.' He leveled his face with his father's, brown eyes an ocean of intensity and controlled anger. His voice became quiet. 'Do you love her'" The part two of "Love Me Better"... you should probably read that before this.


**First off, I don't own Hamilton (duh).**

 **Okay, so here is the second part of "Love Me Better", which is a one-shot that I published around a month ago. I hadn't actually been planning to make a second part, but I received a very nice request for another chapter, so… here it is, I guess. I hope that it does not disappoint :) If you're going to read this, you should probably read "Love Me Better" first in order to understand what's going on. Now I'm gonna respond to reviews from "Love Me Better", which is exciting 'cause it's the first time I've ever done that.**

 **CrazyFangirl1776: Haha, sorry! Didn't mean to crush anyone… but I guess that means it was effective, right?**

 **RankstrailOfDagliar: Aw, thank you so much! Yeah, Eliza's kinda laying it on thick there… but he does deserve it, I think. Thank you for reviewing, and here's that second part. Hope it lives up to your expectations :)**

 **Guest (guest): Oops, sorry, didn't mean to kill you. Whoops… but in all seriousness, thank you so much! You're right, Eliza did deserve better :(**

 **Guest (also a guest): Thank you so much!**

 **TTluv19: Aw, thank you! *blush* Yeah, Alex definitely did get what he deserved. He broke her heart… now he understands just how hurt she is because of him.**

 **Anyways, enough of my talking. Commence the story!**

 _Alexander looked up at his son with dark circles under his eyes, and his voice cracked. "Oh, Philip," he croaked, "I messed up so bad."_

Philip chewed at his lip in confusion, brow furrowed. "Yeah, Pops, we got that when you published a ninety-five page essay detailing your infidelity. Are you only figuring this out now, or…?"

Alexander shook his head desperately, hand shoved against his forehead and elbow on the table. "No, Philip, it's worse than that. She's heartbroken. I broke her heart. _I broke my Betsy's heart._ Do you understand that, son? She's broken because of me. I broke her. I broke the love of my life and she's crying and it's my fault. I made her cry. Oh, gosh, I made her cry. How could I make her cry? I love her more than anything in this world and she shed tears because of me. It's my fault. _Why_ did I listen to Maria? She doesn't mean anything to me; I don't love her like I love my Betsy, oh no. I could never love another as I love Betsy. Betsy is perfect, she's beautiful, she's kind and loving and sweet and trusting everything a man could want. But I _abused_ her trust and she- she'll never believe in me again. I had her and I lost her. How could I- Philip, how do I fix this?"

Philip found himself at a loss for words. As his father turned his helpless, pleading eyes upon him, all possible responses flew out of his mind. He brought a hand up to his tangled curls and blew out a breath. "Gee, Pops, I don't know. I mean, maybe you could…" He sighed as he wracked his brain for any plausible solution, something that might help his father, anything to mend his mother's broken heart. "Um… maybe write her a love letter or something? That's how you got her in the first place, isn't it?"

The writer groaned resignedly and buried his head into his arms on the table. He shoved the pages that had been scattered across the table towards his son, a sigh escaping his lips. "I tried that," he revealed, voice muffled by his sleeves. "That's all I can write, though."

Philip picked up the papers and skimmed the first line, then the second, then the third. As he went further and further into his father's latest work, his brow raised higher and higher. Finally he placed the parchment back upon the table, still processing what he had read.

The pages were filled with line after line of the words _I messed up so bad._ Again and again, scrawled across the parchment was that very phrase, no clear ending or beginning to the terrible message. It seemed to slash across the page in angry knots and lines made of black ink, sashes and twirls of words, horrible and beautiful all rolled together into one work of terrifying intensity.

Despite the simplicity of the words there was still a striking beauty to Alexander's writing, Philip thought- the way that each letter curved perfectly into the next, the curl at the end of every word, the way that the round part of the b was so expertly circular each time that the letter appeared. Philip had, in his own private thoughts, always found it sort of silly that his mother would fall head over heels for some sappy letters, but now… now he felt that he understood.

"Well, Pops, I…" Philip sighed, tugging a hand once more through his stubborn brown curls. He groaned in frustration as he looked at Alexander, who was slumped in the chair, countenance resigned and submissive.

It appeared that Alexander Hamilton had given up.

On what, though? Writing letters? Speaking with Philip? Or… trying to win back Eliza? Philip shook his head at the thought of the last possibility and slammed his fist against the table, causing Alexander to jump in surprise.

"Come _on,_ Pops. It's Mom we're talking about. You know her better than anyone." He leveled his face with his father's, brown eyes an ocean of intensity and controlled anger. His voice became quiet. "Do you love her?"

Alexander was quick to nod, fear in his face. Philip had never addressed him this way before- it was both frightening and a relief. Someone was finally yelling at him- someone who was angry and not sad. The sadness that Eliza had seemed to radiate the night before… the memory haunted him.

Philip leaned back and placed a quill and piece of parchment before his father, then straightened up completely and crossed his arms. "Good. Then write. Write about why you love her. Write about how sorry you are. Write about how you love her more than anything else in this world- because dang it, you'd better. My mother is the best thing that has ever happened to you. Tell her that, since you sure as heck haven't done a good job showing it. You're _Alexander Hamilton,_ Pops. Prove to the world that you love your wife."

Alexander gulped and nodded, reaching slowly for the quill. He grabbed it in his right hand, acutely aware of Philip's eyes on him, watching to see that he would not back down from this- though everything in his body screamed to do so.

"Right," Alexander muttered, dipping his quill into the inkwell and placing the tip upon the page. "What do I love about Betsy? Well, there's her… blue dress that she likes so much. And I love how her hair is so silky and soft and straight, because she loves it like that. And her lips are perfectly pink and sweet, and her figure is beautiful, and her eyes, and her laugh, and her kindness and compassion and the love that she has for our children, and how she works to keep the family alive perhaps harder than I do, and the way that she sings to herself while she makes dinner…"

The quill began to scratch against the page in time with Alexander's verbal declarations. He nodded to himself vigorously as he wrote the letter that would hopefully mend a bit of his Betsy's heart. Alexander took no notice of the small smile that spread across his face, but Philip allowed himself a slight grin at the sight of his father's partially renewed joy.

"Yes, that's good… oh, this here, too… and let's not forget how she danced so splendidly that night so long ago at the Winter's Ball," Alexander murmured to himself, head bobbing up and down as he dipped the quill into the ink once again.

Philip quietly retreated from the room, soft smile upon his lips. He climbed the stairs and padded down the hall until he reached the bedroom of his parents- or mother, now that Eliza had confined Alexander to his office. Gently he knocked upon the wooden door, and opened it once the words "Come in" floated to his ears.

Philip stepped into the room and smiled a bit at his mother, whose expression was sad and tired. He asked no questions concerning her hairstyle or red dress; instead, he tilted his head towards the bassinet which housed William, the newest addition to the Hamilton family.

"Would you like me to take him outside for you, Mom?" he offered politely, eyes hopeful.

Eliza nodded slowly, biting her lip. "Would you? I feel that he should get some sunshine, but…" She trailed off and Philip nodded in understanding, reaching into the cradle and picking up his younger brother.

"Of course, Mom. It's no trouble." He sent her one last smile before retreating from the room with his baby brother, who was babbling cheerfully, snuggled into his arms.

Philip bounced the baby a little, eliciting a squeal of joy. He grinned. "Y'know what, William?" he asked, smile on his face, "I think everything will be okay."

 **Thank you so much for reading! Again, please don't forget to review! :)**


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